


Six Degrees of Separation

by kiath



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-19
Updated: 2007-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiath/pseuds/kiath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always take a number. If not, rely on coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Degrees of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> _Thanks to Kyuuketsukirui for the beta._

'I want to take you home.'

It's the first thing Dominic says to Elijah. He likes it that way, positively getting off on the fact he's pulled without even a second of small talk, before he's asked for a name, even.

Dominic had settled on Elijah after half an hour of winding his way around the dance floor. He looked bored, a little drunk, and desperate to escape the girls he was dancing with. Dominic smiled. He sidled his way into the middle of the group, zoning in on Elijah and purposefully cold-shouldering his companions, relishing their indignant _oh my god_ s. Their American accents cut through the music and Dominic considered making a quick exit; Americans never really did it for him. But Elijah was already moving closer, arms above his head, hips, hips, all hips, and it was far beyond Dominic to say no to something so tempting.

Elijah shakes his head when Dominic asks him to leave a second time, in the queue for their coats. He nods at the girls from the dance floor, the unshakable fag hags who are annoying Dominic more by the second, and Dominic follows Elijah's gaze. The blonde one glares back at them and then turns to mutter something to her friend.

'That one's my little sister. I can't leave her...'

Dominic's not so easily deterred. 'She looks like a big girl,' he says, reaching under Elijah's top and scratching down his back. 'I'm sure she can look after herself.' Elijah shivers, throwing another concerned glance at the girls. Dominic doesn't normally like to beg, but he's almost prepared to, just this once, if it means getting his way.

In the end, it's Elijah who ends up begging, half-undone before Dominic's even managed to kick the front door shut behind them. He begs when Dominic goes down on him, and he begs when Dominic fucks him, his voice cracking as he pleads for more for the hundredth time.

He says he can't stay the night, but he does anyway. Dominic has no desire to kick him out, not when he can run his fingers the length of Elijah's back to the curve of his arse and then back again. Elijah stares contently at him, eyes glazed and smile serene. 'I need to leave,' he says, voice low and sleepy.

Dominic nods, stroking a path to his shoulder. 'In a minute. I'll call you a cab in a minute.'

-

Dominic hears the mobile ringing in his dream long before he's conscious. It's like he's running from it, but no matter how fast he goes the shrill and relentless tune is constantly on his heel. He's about to sit up and kick the living shit out whatever is making that noise, but Elijah's already out of bed, on his feet, swearing under his breath as he gropes in his clothes for the offending phone.

'I know, I know! Fuck, okay, I'm on my way,' he hisses into his mobile.

Dominic pulls himself upright and squints at Elijah. 'You're off, then, are you?' The question is fairly redundant; Elijah's pulling on his underwear, his jeans, searching frantically for his t-shirt.

'It's eleven am, fuck!' He pats his back pockets, pulls out his wallet, stares at it for a second before shoving it back in again. 'My flight leaves in three hours. Hannah's gonna fucking kill me!'

'Where are you flying?'

'Home,' Elijah replies, running around the bed to plant a quick kiss on Dominic's mouth. 'Thanks for last night, really.' He smiles despite his panic. 'I had a blast. Maybe we can hook up if I'm ever on vacation here again?'

Dominic agrees. He trails Elijah to the front door, giving directions to the nearest main road, instructing him on where he's most likely to pick up a taxi. In return, Dominic earns himself another brief kiss; as musty as Elijah's breath is, Dominic feels hard done-by when it's over in a matter of seconds and he’s left alone, standing naked in the hallway.

It's not until Elijah's five minutes gone that Dominic realises they never swapped contact details.

***

'Come on, man,' Elijah wheedles, 'I swear I had one. I lost it at the VIP bar; let me go and look for it.'

The security guard smiles and waves a girl through the gate. She purposefully flashes her laminate a little longer than needed, throwing a smug smile Elijah's way. He huffs out a frustrated sigh. 'My friends are all back there!'

'Give it up, kid,' the security guard replies. 'You're not getting backstage without that pass.'

Elijah stomps off across the festival ground, digging into his bag and angrily searching out his cigarettes. Twenty-two years old and people still insist on calling him _kid_. So what if he _was_ trying to scam his way backstage? It didn't deserve that kind of insult.

He's still pissed fifteen minutes later when Viggo introduces himself. Being hit on instantly brightens his mood; festivals are the perfect place for a hook-up, what with the sun and the beer and the drugs all in steady supply. Despite this, no one's given Elijah a second look all day and watching bands alone is starting to lose its novelty.

Offering a charming smile and a half-smoked joint, Viggo nods at the stage. 'So. Who's on next, Elijah?' he asks, words slow and voice gravelly. Elijah instantly imagines him coming with a luxurious drawn-out purr, forgetting to answer the question in the process. When he realises an answer is expected of him he gives himself a little mental shake, smiling in embarrassment and dragging on the joint. 'Sorry, what did you ask?' Viggo smiles back and reaches out to grasp Elijah's wrist.

The music from the main stage is muffled. The wind must be blowing the other way, or maybe they just walked further than he realised, Elijah isn't sure. He wonders if he should be annoyed at himself for missing the one band on the bill he really wanted to see, but the weed is sweetly potent and his head is heavy; he couldn't move from this spot, even if he wanted to. And when Viggo begins to blow him in time to Seven Nation Army, Elijah can only clutch the backstage pass Viggo dangled in his face moments earlier and come with a purr of his own.

***

Viggo knows most people think he's scammed his way into first class. He takes a perverse pleasure in looking as shabby as possible, just so he can enjoy the snotty stares of the other passengers in the departure lounge. He hasn't shaved in days, his t-shirt is stained from last night's spaghetti, and he knows he should at least _try_ and wash his feet if he's going to wear sandals. He knows, and gleefully chooses not to.

He grins and tips his straw cowboy hat at the other passengers in the lounge who are brash enough to meet his eye. They all react in the same way: a sniff, eyes instantly averted, a little frown to show how hard they're concentrating on their personal reading matter and _not_ this misplaced tramp.

When he sees Billy for the first time, Viggo knows instantly he's not in the same boat at all. This is a guy who really has found himself with a first class ticket by accident - a competition winner, maybe. He can tell because Billy's fidgeting, rocking back and forth in his chair; he's exhaling noisily, blowing out his cheeks; he's glancing around, smiling nervously if anyone looks at him, but always the first to look away.

'Did you win this off Radio 1, too?' Billy asks when he takes his seat on the plane, across the aisle from Viggo's. Viggo smiles. Half the reason he's made such a good living is his ability to read people; he prides himself on it.

'No. No, I didn't,' he replies. Billy puffs his cheeks out again and coughs nervously. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-' He gestures a little at Viggo's clothes. 'I just assumed-' This time he grins, shaking his head a little. 'Shut it, William.' His smile makes Viggo want to smile back. He does, wide and unabashed.

Viggo doesn't like to wear his money, but he definitely likes his comfort. It's why he has no issue with booking a chauffeur to pick him up at Heathrow airport, and why he keeps a townhouse in Chelsea rather than staying at a hotel.

It's why he invites Billy to join him. A frantic mutual handjob at thirty-five thousand feet is always fun, and it certainly helps him to sleep for some of the eleven-hour journey, but Viggo wants to enjoy his curious new acquaintance at his leisure, comfort levels at a max.

And anyway, the look on Billy's face when he sees the size of the bed is worth every penny.

***

Billy wants to kick himself. Violently. And as soon as he's done that, he wants a fag.

He quit smoking almost four years ago, but the occasional cravings are still there. Stressful situations like this are almost too much to bear without a pack of cigarettes to hand.

When Sean arrives he recognises Billy instantly. It isn't terribly difficult - he's stood at the bar, just as he said he would be, and he's clutching the latest edition of Private Eye, just as they arranged – a simple way of identifying one another without resorting to the carnation cliché.

Sean has his own magazine coiled up tight, and when he lays eyes on Billy and makes the connection he tightens his grip, crushing it. After a few seconds of simply staring at one another, Billy watches Sean turn and walk out of the pub without a single word.

Two weeks later and Billy's over it, just about. He knew he was taking a risk, putting himself out there with a personal ad like a complete numpty, but things were getting a little desperate. Sheffield wasn't quite the sexual hotbed he'd hoped against hope it would be, and pickings weren't so much slim as altogether anorexic.

How irritatingly ironic, Billy thought, that, considering how little action he'd actually managed to get since term began, he should end up on a blind date with one of his own colleagues. Between them they'd managed to turn a nice night out into a double outing and make work potentially unbearably awkward for the foreseeable future.

It certainly would have been awkward had Billy not taken steps to ensure against it. He took steps towards the PE block first, followed by steps into the staff changing room. Soon after he took steps inside the narrow shower stall and allowed Sean to take a few steps of his own.

Billy looks at his watch and swipes a rag across the white board, cleaning away dates and names and facts and figures and all manner of gumpf relating to the Spanish Civil War. When his classroom is tidy he pulls out a chair and relaxes into it, idly swinging his keys around an index finger.

It's Friday, four pm on the dot; the weekend has finally arrived. Billy smiles and anticipates getting the last of the lower sixth's coursework marked, and maybe tackling the mock exam papers the fifth-years handed in last Tuesday. But not before he further improves inter-departmental relations. Some things are more important than homework, and an excellent rapport between faculties was always encouraged by the school.

Two minutes later Sean takes a few more steps, slipping inside Billy's classroom and locking the door behind him.

***

'What a delightfully dull couple they make.'

Sean smirks down at the drink in his hand before looking towards Ian. 'I don't know, they seem pretty happy to me.'

'You've become so horribly positive recently, it's really quite unsettling. What _has_ that wife of yours done to you?' Ian asks, shaking his head in what Sean assumes to be mock disbelief. He can only ever assume what Ian intends; for all his catty comments and forward nature, for his part Sean has never really managed to extract any real honesty from him, not once. Seventeen years is a long time to go without that small comfort.

Glancing back at the dance floor, Sean watches the bride and groom gaze at each other with obvious devotion as they sway together, heedless of the fact everyone around them is dancing with drunken abandon to _Copacobana_. His attention trails around the room, eventually landing on his wife, deep in conversation with two of the bridesmaids. She looks especially pretty, even in the glare of the tacky mobile disco lights, a midnight-blue skirt brushing the perfect skin just below her knees, her hair piled on top of her head in artful disarray.

Still, Sean can't help but smile and agree when Ian suggests they take a walk together, somewhere a little more private. Beauty rarely comforts Sean, and he’s never really cared that much for honesty either.

***

'You _do_ realise we're casting our leading man today, don't you?'

Orlando smiles back at Ian, his charming grin wide and assured. 'Of course! That's why I'm here.' He takes a few steps forward and holds out a large black and white photograph; Ian takes it, glancing reflexively at Orlando's appealing rear as he walks back to his mark. The picture is standard fare - he's seen hundreds of Orlandos over the years, and a pair of handsome cheekbones and a thousand yard stare really are ten a-penny in this business. He knows Orlando could go far based on his looks alone, but – unfortunately for Orlando – Ian is casting Shakespeare, not an episode of Hollyoaks. No matter how beautiful a bottom this boy happens to have, nothing is going to change that.

Ian takes a cursory glance at the credits on the back of Orlando's photo. 'I assume you have actually _read_ the play in question?'

Orlando rolls his eyes, laughs a little; Ian idly imagines cuffing him around the head, the disrespectful wretch. 'Of course! We did Macbeth at my drama school. I played Macduff that time.' He crosses quickly back to the table and bends over, running his finger along the pertinent information before smiling up at Ian with a sudden lack of both innocence and charm.

Ian leans back in his chair, removing himself from the personal space Orlando has claimed as his own. 'In that case, you'll be aware that it's considered _extremely_ bad luck to mention the name of the Scottish play inside a theatre.' Orlando straightens up in his surprise, opens his mouth to defend himself, but Ian's scorn is half a beat ahead. 'And you'll also be aware that the role of the unlucky king in question goes to an actor _far_ older than yourself.'

It only takes Orlando a second or two to recover his composure, but when he does he pouts, eyelashes dipping, hips cocked. 'I know I'm maybe a little... young,' he admits, 'but I'm very versatile.'

Ian's still laughing when Orlando storms out of the auditorium, heavy doors slamming behind him.

***

'So, what have you been in?'

Orlando grins. It's really too easy. Dominic is looking at him with a faux-casual stare, like he can take or leave the whole thing, but Orlando knows better. He orders his drink, orders one for Dominic, too, but only because he suspects Dominic will insist on paying. He does. Orlando covers his triumphant smirk by sipping from his glass.

'Come on, tell me!' Dominic drops his casual expression the second they find a few inches of wall to lean beside. He bumps Orlando with his hip; Orlando looks him up and down and bumps right back.

'Well, Casualty. And I was in three episodes of The Bill,' Orlando sees Dominic's expression falter a little. Damn. Orlando had assumed this one would be desperate enough to shag him that bit parts would be enough. 'I played a murder victim in Morse once, too. Three hours in make-up for that one.' That's usually his trump card, but Dominic's still looking less excited than expected. _What do you want, short-arse? A fucking Oscar?_ Orlando sneers at him internally.

Any other night and Orlando would just walk away. There were easily twenty other guys he could spend the night shagging. He considered it for a second, preparing for a dismissive You’re-Dead-To-Me air-kiss, before noticing Dominic was already indiscreetly checking someone else out, a skinny-looking emo kid with _terrible_ hair. Horrified, Orlando realised he was about to be dumped by a guy far less attractive than himself. It was unprecedented. Unthinkable. Fucking well _inconceivable_.

'Actually, I'm going to LA in a couple of weeks.' That got Dominic's attention.

'Really?'

'Oh yeah. I have an agent out there and a couple of auditions lined up.' Orlando says, knowing he's close to reeling Dominic right back in. 'One of them is for Tim Burton, and the other is Sofia Coppola's next project.'

Dom gapes, eyes wide. 'Wow. That's amazing.'

'I know.' Orlando reaches out and toys with the buttons on Dominic's shirt. 'I've got a condo there. It's all paid for by my agency. It's fantastic, up in Beverly Hills.'

Orlando knows he's pushed it a little too far when Dominic's impressed expression melts into a slightly more quizzical frown. 'Really? Isn't that where all the mansions are?'

'I don't know actually. It could be somewhere else.' Orlando shrugs, suddenly annoyed with Dominic for not believing his outrageous lies. 'Listen. If you're ever in LA, call me. I'll show you round, take you out.'

'Sunset Strip, and that?'

Orlando smiles and slips a hand under and inside Dominic's shirt, placing it flat against his pleasingly hard stomach. 'Anywhere you like, babes.'

***

Dominic takes back his credit card and slips it into his wallet. The girl behind the counter holds out his shopping bag with a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Dominic returns the compliment.

He pulls his sunglasses on as he steps out into the car park and begins to walk up Sunset Boulevard at a snail's pace. He doesn’t really know where he's heading; he has hours and hours before his flight and nowhere to go. No hotel room to hide out in anymore, not now he's checked out, and no real sights to see, not after a week in the city. He learned soon enough that it was impossible to get anywhere in Los Angeles without a car, and he stopped using the buses after a twitchy mental case threatened him with a knife on his second day. He's spent a small fortune on cabs; money's starting to get tight. Rather than feeling elated at his carrier bag of brand-new CDs, he resents the plastic cutting into his fingers; even impulse buys on his credit card have lost their shine.

In fact, the whole of LA lost its shine a long time ago. Dominic is more than ready to go home.

He stops at the Rainbow when he sees a waitress carrying fat-looking burgers out to a table of customers, deciding that comfort food may work where comfort shopping failed. Half an hour later and with half a burger inside him he realises it was far too optimistic a thought. Nothing is going to make him feel better about making such a tit of himself on the other side of the world – well, nothing except getting on a plane and forgetting Orlando ever existed, that is.

'Are you done, sir?'

Dominic looks up, a polite _yes, thank you_ , on the tip of his tongue, but the words die when he realises who he's addressing.

Elijah stares back at him, hand poised to take Dominic's plate, no flicker of recognition whatsoever. Dominic's too delighted to really notice, excitement bubbling up and taking control of his brain.

'Hi! Oh my God, this is weird!' He stands and pulls Elijah into a hug, not really caring that he doesn’t hug back. 'How are you?'

'Uh,' Elijah gently extricates himself from Dominic's embrace, 'have we met?'

Dominic beams. 'Dominic! London! We-' he leans in close and drops his voice, just in case, 'we spent the night together. You flew back the next day?'

Eyes widening with a sudden realisation, Elijah slaps his forehead. 'Oh wow, of course! You're the one who nearly cost me my flight home.'

'Did you make it?'

'Just,' Elijah grins, 'My sister's still pissed about it, though.'

Dominic laughs. 'Sorry about that.'

'No way, man, don't apologise.' Dominic feels a familiar curl of pleasure in his stomach when Elijah closes the gap between them just a little and smiles cheekily. 'I seem to remember it being worth it.'

Dominic wants to kiss Elijah really quite badly, but he holds off. Despite the pleasing mutual flirtation, he doesn't want to assume anything; assumptions were responsible for his shit Hollywood holiday, after all.

'So, what are you doing here? How long will you be around?' Elijah asks, still smiling, still standing just a little too close to be casual.

'I fly home tonight,' Dominic admits, his delight dissipating when he realises that history is repeating itself. Despite this, he’s gratified to see Elijah's face falling, too. 'But my flight's not till eleven. What time do you get off work?'

'Eleven,' Elijah replies with a groan. 'Shit. I was gonna say… shit, man, this is so fucked up!' He huffs out a frustrated sigh and looks over his shoulder for a few seconds before fixing Dominic with a determined look. 'Okay, listen, my boss owes me a dozen favours. Come back in, like, half an hour-' He stops suddenly, raising his eyebrows. 'I mean, if you wanna, you know…' He grins again, a little self-consciously this time. 'We could go to my place and I could drive you to the airport after.'

Dominic grins back and throws twenty dollars on the table. 'Half an hour, it is.'

-

Dominic stares at the numbers on the bedside clock for a full ten seconds before they mean anything to him. When the realisation of how late it is hits, he sucks his breath in hard and jumps from the bed, scrabbling for his underwear, his jeans, searching frantically for his t-shirt.

Once dressed, he turns, expecting to see Elijah wide-awake. In fact, he's still fast asleep on his stomach, naked, completely uncovered and even more appealing than before. Dominic wants to get undressed and slip back beside him more than anything. He glances at the time again before raking his gaze the length of Elijah's body. After a moment's deliberation, he reaches out a hand and turns the clock away; with the other he unbuttons his jeans.

By the time Elijah wakes up, Dominic's already found something to amuse himself with. Elijah arches up into Dominic's mouth and hums happily, asking, 'What time is it?'

Dominic looks up at him and smiles. 'Don't worry about that. I'll call a cab in a minute.'

When he comes for the second time that day, Dominic is on his back, praising every deity he can think of, Elijah shuddering and laughing above him.

Somewhere above their heads, a plane missing one passenger climbs to thirty-five thousand feet and disappears east.


End file.
